He was having a particularly bad day. The story had stopped, not being able to move forward due to staff difficulties. This irked him. He quite liked the word irk. It had a really onomatopoetic ring to it. Irk, the sound a small insect makes as it gnaws through wood, probably in some priceless antiquity.
Instead he was having coffee and looking at strangers. He tried to learn from others. What drove them? He studied expressions and walks. The little ways in which people moved their hands as they talked. Right now he was watching a tall figure weaving in and out of the throng on the opposite sidewalk. It almost looked like dancing to him. Other people of that stature usually ploughed through the crowds like ships in a storm. This led him to the conclusion that the figure was a woman. A man would never be that careful and considerate of others. She stopped at the cross walk, a full head taller than most of the people surrounding her. She stood very still. The hood of her moss green jacket was pulled up over her head. This made it impossible to see her features. He felt intrigued. She looked solemn and distant in some way, as if she wasn’t really there. Suddenly the lights turned green and she crossed the street with the others. He could see her more clearly now. Mouth like a rosebud and a heart shaped face. She turned her head his way, reading the sign above the window, and he saw her eyes. Blue like the sky on a cold winter morning. Her lips were moving as if she was singing a silent tune all to herself. His heart stopped, just for a short second. He felt as if the earth fell away from him. “Tinúviel!” he thought and knew that everything would be all right. He left the coffee shop feeling happy. He had found his muse, but she would never know.
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Jempan
Både prosa och lyrik Arkiv
Oktober 2017
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